Mare's War (29 page)

I look at the unfamiliar, loopy handwriting, trying to calm my mind. Mama didn’t write this; I know Sister Dials wrote this letter herself. I know she is trying to let me know how things stand back home. Mama married somebody not even Feen has ever said a thing about. My mind is running in circles. What about Toby? Was Sister Dials wrong? Was the man Mama was keeping company with all this time this Mr. Ernest Peterson and not that no-’count Toby?

Maybe Mama knew the truth about Toby all this time.

Maybe I had no call to run off and leave like I did.

“Boylen, you coming or what?” Georgette Todd, our driver, is leaning her head out of the window of our transport vehicle.

“I’m coming,” I say. I get into the car, folding up that letter smaller and smaller.

I walk into the postal exchange and do my shift, and I don’t remember any of it.

“You want me to look in on your sister?”

“If you can,” I say, staring down at my cup. George brought me to this little café to tell me goodbye, but I have something to get off my chest first. “She won’t need to know. You could say you’re a Fuller Brush salesman if anybody asks. Just … see how she looks, would you, George?”

“I don’t mind looking in on her, Marey Lee. You know that. But you could send a telegram from Western Union and find out how she is faster than I’ll ever get there.”

I shake my head. “Can’t. If Mama knows …” I stop.

“Hold up now. You want me to look in on your sister without your mama finding out?” George pushes up his glasses and leans forward, pinning me with those funny calico cat eyes. “Marey, what—”

“Never mind,” I mumble, remembering Feen’s wide, scared eyes and her hunched body when Toby had been messing with her. “You wouldn’t know what to look for anyway.”

I’m worried. Mama’s sent for Feen to come home, maybe
just for a visit, but maybe for longer. None of Mama’s so-called uncles ever got her to marry them, not with me and Feen around. What if Mr. Ernest Joseph Peterson didn’t want to be nobody’s daddy? What if he is worthless, like Toby? Mama doesn’t pay enough attention to Feen, not like she should. I should go home. I should watch after my sister, like Mama said.

I never intended to go back to Bay Slough, Alabama, no way, no how. I know what I ought to do; Mama didn’t raise me to shirk my duty, but my chest squeezes every time I think of leaving Paris. Mama said to look after Feen. What about looking after me?

“Marey,” George is saying, leaning his elbows on the table, “is your sister in trouble?”

“What? No. No, it isn’t like that, no. Listen, George, forget it, okay? Like as not, Feen is just fine. I just”—I shrug and try to smile—“worry about that crazy girl, you know?”

“I’ll look in on your sister, Marey Lee,” George says serious-like, and he reaches across the table to pat my hand. “I’ve got sisters, too, you know. If anybody asks, I’d like to be able to tell folks”—George clears his throat and glances out at the street—“that … that I’m a friend of yours.”

I lean back and breathe a sigh of relief, but my sigh is sadness, too. George will do what I ask, since it’s me who’s asked him. He’ll go, and I’ll have someone else to look in on Feen, but a body would have to be blind not to see it: George Hoag is doing it because he’s sweet on me.

He is a good man, the type who would work hard and
look after a body, but I can’t let him get notions. I have got Feen to take care of until she is grown; she’s all I can handle right now.

“I hope nobody asks you, George Hoag, but you sure are a friend of mine. Heck, you’re one of the best friends I got. I sure won’t have anybody bringing me peas once you’re gone.”

I think George will laugh, but his face gets more serious. “And I’ll have those peas waiting on you, Marey Lee, when you get back home to the States. You just tell me when.”

“It’s November, George Hoag. Didn’t your farmers teach you anything? You got plenty of time to worry about all kinds of things before you go worrying about getting me peas.”

George just smiles a little. “Just you let me know when, Miss Boylen,” is all he says.

George and his unit ship out the next week, and when we say goodbye, it seems like then the gray, cold weather blows in to stay. I am feeling pretty low. The wet weather has given me a head cold, and I am almost tired enough to go on sick call. I don’t really know what is wrong with me, except everybody seems to be waiting for something. I am waiting to hear from Feen.

“I guess they’re going to ship us all out pretty soon,” Ina White says. Everyone is piled on her bed, huddled in their blankets and bathrobes. The hotel is fancy, but the rooms are damp in this cold. “Once Major Addams is gone, there really isn’t any more Six-triple-eight, is there?”

“I’m ready to ship out,” Maryanne says, her voice tired. “Mama wrote and says my grandpop’s been doing poorly. I should get home.”

Peaches sighs. “My folks want me home, too. They offered me a job at the secretarial college in Atlanta, and Dad thinks I ought to come back and take it.”

“Bob says …,” Ruby begins, then ducks her head.

“He says what?” Peaches bumps Ruby’s shoulder. “That boy finally pop the question?”

“I’m gonna say yes,” Ruby says, and looks up at me. I can’t help but laugh out loud.

“Ruby May Bowie! You never said!”

For a minute, everybody is talking all on top of each other, asking Ruby for the date and congratulating her and all, but Ruby looks at me again. “I told him yes on a condition,” she say, and everybody hushes.

“What?”

“That Marey Lee came home to be my maid of honor,” Ruby says, and she grins. “How long do we have to wait, Miss Boylen?”

“Now, that’s not right!” I say as everyone laughs. “You know I said I’d be on the last transport out of here!”

“Oh, I know it,” Ruby say. “I was counting on George to help me make my case, but he didn’t have much luck, did he?”

I throw a pillow across the room. “Keep it up, girl, and I won’t go home at all!”

“Gloria’s wedding is going to be something,” Peaches says. “Her fiancé’s best friend has a buddy in the 301st Squadron. Do you know, he gave them a parachute and Gloria’s found a seamstress to make it over into a dress?”

“Gloria’d take the blackout shades down off a window if
she thought it would make her look good. Remember how mad she was about how her uniform fit back in basic?”

“Now we’ll all be needing to wear some of those big old French hats, won’t we?” Ina laughs. “I hope they give us plenty of room for luggage when we ship out!”

“I want shoes,” Ruby sighs. “Before I go home, I’m going to buy me three pair of those high-heeled shoes!”

“Marey, what do you want?” Maryanne asks suddenly. “You’d look good in a fox stole.”

“Can’t see buying a thing like that.” I shrug. “Don’t have nowhere to wear it and nobody to see me.”

“George Hoag would step out with you somewhere,” Peaches say, but I have had enough.

“George Hoag couldn’t care less about a body’s clothes. Girl, don’t you start with me about George again!”

“But, Marey girl, you’re giving that poor boy an awfully hard time.” Ina grins. “He did wait around here like a faithful hound till you’d get off shift. He didn’t ever come to see anybody but you. Didn’t he ever declare himself?”

“He said he’d like to call himself my friend, and I said he was that,” I say truthfully, ignoring the hoots of laughter that follow. “Anyhow, I don’t want to talk about it, so I’m gone.”

“Oh, Marey Lee, don’t go yet,” Ruby groans as I stand and pull my blanket around me. “It’s early. We won’t tease you anymore.”

“I’ve got to pin up my hair.”

“Don’t be like that,” she says, and pulls me back down to
the bed. “We just like to mess with you. That George Hoag sure didn’t look at another girl once he met you.”

“I don’t want to talk about George!”

Peaches leans forward and grabs my hand. “Marey Lee! What did he do to you?” She looks mad now, like a mama goose about to hiss and run somebody off.

“He didn’t do nothing,” I say, and rub my forehead.

“Marey Lee Boylen,” Ruby say. “Come on now, girl.”

“I asked him to look in on my sister,” I say finally. My hands are shaking. “I haven’t heard a word from her in over a month—since my mama got married. And once …”

Once, one of Mama’s “uncles” she brought home almost got her. Once, one night when Mama was drunk again. Once …

I look around the ring of faces, but the words don’t push past my tongue. I can’t tell them about Mama and the way she hides in her bottle. I can’t tell them about Toby, his grasping hands and greedy eyes. I can’t tell about leaving home when didn’t nobody want me to stay.

“Once, I promised her I’d look after her when I was grown,” I say finally. “I promised. …”

“We can send a telegram,” Ina says immediately, but I just shake my head, too tired to explain, feeling my throat squeezed up tight with tears.

“Isn’t there somebody who can take it to your sister without letting your mama know?” Ruby is quick, quicker than I am.

“Does she have a teacher she can trust?”

“You got someone at church you can trust?”

Don’t know how I could have forgotten about Sister Dials.

Just before the 0300 shift at the postal exchange begins, Ruby goes with me to the post radio and telegraph station.

Louisiana is hot, flat, and humid. The lines of moss-draped trees mark the edges of the interstate, and there are rain runoff ditches on the sides of the road where Mare says alligators and nutrias live.

“What’s a nutria?” I ask, keeping my eyes on the road.

“A giant rat.” The machine-gun laugh rattles in her chest.

Sometimes I can’t tell when Mare’s telling lies or not. But now that Mare is telling Tali and me stories again about her last days in Paris, I don’t care.

We weren’t back in our hotel room ten minutes this morning before Mare hammered on our door. And I mean
hammered
. She stood there with her suitcase next to her, surprised to see us already awake and dressed, and her eyes got all narrow when she looked at my sister.

“Well, look who’s all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed this morning,” she said.

“Whatever that means,” Tali said, crossing her arms defensively.

“Are we going now?” I asked, hoping to keep them from locking hands on each other’s throats.

“We’re already checked out. You got the keys, Octavia?”

“Yes, ma’am. But, Mare—”

“Come on, then.”

Mare had marched down to the lobby, and if she noticed that the car was a little further from the hotel, she didn’t mention it. I was just relieved she didn’t ask me to drive right then.

Tali slouched into the backseat, leaving me to ride shotgun, and we had started off—the three of us wound up, on edge, and silent.

“Traffic,” Mare had hissed as we entered the freeway.

“People do have to go to work.” I shrugged, but Mare just glared.

“What do you know about work, either one of you?” she snapped. “Not a doggone thing.”

“Oh, here we go,” muttered Tali.

Mare’s mood persisted even after we stopped for breakfast just over the Louisiana state line. She was disappointed that the little diner didn’t carry fresh beignets and then was greatly annoyed when she had to tell me what they are.

“They’re like doughnuts without holes,” Tali said disinterestedly. “They’re not
that
good.”

“They’re a part of Louisiana tradition,” Mare insisted.

Tali shrugged and ordered a Belgian waffle.

For once, the idea of pie didn’t make me glad. Tense and unhappy, I couldn’t eat more than toast. Mare kept looking
at us, glowering like she wondered why she had brought us along. Tali ignored her, cutting her waffle into tiny squares. And I felt stuck in the middle.

The angry silence lasts all the way past Lake Charles, when Mare abruptly pulls over to the side of the almost empty two-lane highway.

“You ready to take the wheel?” she asks, looking at me over her large round sunglasses.

The minute our eyes meet, I can’t answer. My tongue dries to a thick plank of wood.

Mare sighs. “If you don’t want to …,” she begins.

“She can do it,” Tali says from the backseat.

“I don’t recall asking anyone else’s opinion,” Mare says flatly. “Octavia? It’s up to you.”

The silence stretches. A truck flies by, making the car rock slightly in the wind of its passing. My hands grip the edge of the seat. In my mind, I can see jackrabbits running across the freeway and the words of my driving test swimming across the narrow white test form. I had thought I was ready then, but I wasn’t. I think I am ready now, but what if I’m not? If only—

“Well, do something, Octavia,” Tali groans. “Don’t just sit there again.”

The word “again” stings against my memory like Tali intends. I take off my seat belt and open the car door. Already, the morning sun is beating down fiercely, and the stew of swampy smells from the rain runoff ditch adds to the already thick humidity. Swatting a huge mosquito, I hurry
around the car while Mare scoots over into the passenger seat. I shut the door and belt in.

Adjust the seat. Adjust the mirror. Check for traffic. Put the car into drive. Go
.

The moment the car moves, I stomp down on the brake hard, flinging everyone forward.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” I chant nervously, waiting tensely until my leg muscles can unlock. I glance into the mirror again, crane around to double-check for cars. With a deep breath, I press the gas too quickly, and with a lurch and a roar, we are on the highway.

“Octavia,” Tali begins. “Just—”

“Hush.” Mare turns stiffly. I can see she is gripping the armrest. “Leave her be.”

We stay in the slow lane. I can feel Tali moving restlessly behind me, barely restraining impatience as cars pass us. Mare talks quietly as I drive, telling me about the lives of the Acadians in this part of Louisiana, the Cajuns from New Brunswick, Canada, some of whom still live in the Atchafalaya River Basin, still hunt and fish and can vanish into the trees. I can let my hands and my arms and my back relax as Mare spins stories from the gray-green trees all around us.